I knew a man, a giant girl's hand, he'd dance for you in worn out shoes with silver hair, a ragged shirt and baggy pants, he would do the old soft shoe, he could jump so high, jump so high, and then he'd lightly touch down, I met him in a cell in New Orleans I was, well I was down and out, he looked to me to be the very eyes of age, as he spoke right out, he talked of life, Lord he talked of life, laughed, slapped his leg a step, he said his name was Pope Jangles, then he danced a lick, right across the cell, he grabbed his pants, took a better stance, jumped up high, that's when he clicked his heels, then he let go a laugh, Lord he let go a laugh, shook back his clothes all around, that was Mr. Bojangles, Mr. Bojangles, Mr. Bojangles, Lord he could dance, he told me of the times he worked for minstrel shows, travelling throughout the south, he spoke with tears of fifteen years, how his dog and he, they just travelled about, but his dog up and died, his dog up and died, and after twenty years he's still green, he said I dance now at every chance and honky tonks, for my drinks and tips, but most of the time I spend behind these county bars, you see son I drink a bit, then he shook his head, Lord when he shook his head, I could swear I heard someone say please, Mr. Bojangles, Mr. Bojangles, Mr. Bojangles come back and dance, dance, dance, please dance, Mr. Bojangles, Mr. Bojangles, Mr. Bojangles, dance, why can't you come back and dance, please Bojangles, dance, again Bojangles,